The Ancient Witnesses

30 • The Ancient Witnesses: A Journey to Discover Our Sacred Roots

lead me back to my friends. It was not a map, at least not one I could read. The choice left to me was simple but agonizing: I could venture into the tunnel, hopefully to find my rescuer; or, I could exit by the hatch and take my chances out on the lake again. It did not take me long to decide. I stuffed the paper into my pocket, took a deep breath and began to make my way into the tunnel. The passageway was low and narrow, and it snaked sharply to the left a few feet in. I crept slowly around the corner, aware of my breathing at every moment, fighting the feeling that the tunnel might close in on me. I stopped when the light behind me—the light seeping in around the hatch—was cut off from view. I waited in the darkness for a while. There was no room to turn around, and to back out of the tunnel would have been difficult. When my eyes adjusted, I could see a faint glow coming from farther in the tunnel. I moved slowly toward it until the source of the light came directly into view. At that moment I struck my head against the top of the passageway. Bending over I rubbed my head. What had happened came clear as I recovered: I had seen something that shocked me, like the time a pair of racoon eyes reflected the beam of my flashlight during an overnight campout. The image that met my eyes caused me to flinch and hit my head. Even with my eyes closed that image still burned brightly in my mind. It was a pattern of tiny light and dark squares, like a child’s lite bright toy, making a wheel with spokes formed by two overlapping crosses turned at an angle to one another. Against the darkness of the tunnel, the wheel and crosses looked like a clock face divided into sections. Opening my eyes cautiously, I met the light source again, forcing myself to look at it without turning